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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27843193">You say you want to stand by my side</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elyant/pseuds/Elyant'>Elyant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Devil Makes Three [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Butcher!Neil (implied), Ficlet Collection, I don't know how else to tag this, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, Poetry, Stargazing, Texting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:54:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27843193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elyant/pseuds/Elyant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Small bits and pieces I wrote while dealing with various writer’s blocks while plotting out the main story line.</p>
<p>There is no definite timeline for them, just know they happen sometimes after chapter 7 and into an undetermined future after the end of <i>Just learning how to know your mind</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Devil Makes Three [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1080831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Suggestions on how to kill someone without getting caught?</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Andrew sends the text without really thinking about it. He's bored on the way back from an away game, and unwilling to deal with his teammates either crashing from the exhaustion of the game or riding the excitement of the victory. </p><p>This, of course, has nothing to do with Nicky's recent texts about Aaron's upcoming wedding and the nature of his cousin's inquiries, namely whether Andrew will be bringing a nice guy as his date. First, Abram certainly doesn't fit Nicky's definition of nice. Second, Andrew is not ready to think about the possibility of Abram accompanying him to his twin's wedding.</p><p>Their relationship is still this new and weird thing where nothing has changed between them except for the fact that now Andrew can kiss Abram instead of just thinking about kissing him. Or maybe that changes everything? Before Andrew can further consider the answer to that question, his phone pings with Abram's answer. </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b> <em>A few. Depends who needs killing.</em> </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> My meddlesome cousin. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b> <em>Oh! I have one of those too. Lucky me she's stuck in England for now. </em> </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Mine's in Germany, doesn't stop him from interfering. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b> <em>With what?</em> </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> My dating life. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Andrew's thumb hovers a second above the send button, but he can't find a better way to phrase it.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b> <em>Should I be jaloux?</em> </b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>The discussion is veering dangerously close to talking about their feelings for each other when the point of texting Abram was to avoid thinking about it. Andrew is aware there might be a slight flaw in his reasoning, but he ignores it all in favor of questioning Abram's ability to speak English.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> How is English your native language when you can't spell basic adjectives? </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Abram probably sees the diversion for what it is, but still indulges him.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b> <em>I've been texting Jean. Stupid phone gets confused with the language changes…</em> </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Ah, the hardship of the polyglot. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b> <em>Tell me about it...</em> </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> How many do you speak anyway? French, Italian, your dubious English </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b> <em>Add German and Japanese for the fluency. Enough Spanish and Russian to read and be understood + multiple swear words in a few others. </em> </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Had a lot of time on your hands, did you? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b> <em>That's what happens when you're stuck in bed with a useless leg and the only other things you're good at are running and maths. Even I didn't want to solve equations for that many months.</em> </b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Andrew doesn't think boredom and immobility are the only reasons Abram speaks as many languages as he does, but Andrew doesn't call him out on the omission. The man has too many issues to unpack through texts.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What are you doing?"</p><p>Abram's lying on his back on the rooftop, fingers intertwined and hands resting on his chest. His head is pillowed on what appears to be an horrendously pink sweater, probably a leftover from Felix's and Marissa's bet to make him wear other colors than various scales of gray.</p><p>"Stargazing," Abram answers, as if it's obvious.</p><p>Andrew tilts his head back and stares dubiously at the sky where no stars are visible thanks to the light pollution.</p><p>After a minute, Andrew comes over to him with a sigh. He sits, one knee drawn halfway to his chest with an elbow draping over it, and watches Abram watch the invisible stars. </p><p>After a while, Abram raises a hand toward the sheet of darkness above their heads, and Andrew's eyes follow automatically. Abram's forefinger draws patterns from imaginary star to imaginary star. Instead of naming the constellations he's tracing, he tells Andrew of being twelve and desperate for something that held more meaning than the brutal routine of training with the Ravens, of the way he memorized the name and pattern of constellations he thought he would never have a chance to see properly. It didn't make life in the Nest any easier, but it passed the time and the sound of his voice reciting their names helped soothe Jean to sleep after  particularly grueling days.</p><p>“The Day too short for my distress; and Night, even in the zenith of her dark domain, is sunshine to the colour of my fate,” Andrew recites and Abram turns away from the sky to fix his curious gaze on him. “It’s from a poem by Edward Young.”</p><p>Something oddly vulnerable shimmers in Abram’s eyes as he says, “Jean and I had this whole system of communication made of French poetry verse."</p><p>In answer, Andrew tells him about the library in juvie where he had carved a small corner of peace and quiet for himself between two shelves. The books selection was limited, but for whatever reason there were plenty of poetry volumes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Abram is standing on the ledge, the wind ruffling through his hair and tugging at the uncharacteristic white dress shirt he is wearing. Andrew has to swallow down the lump that lodges itself in his throat at the sight. He used to climb to the roof back at Palmetto to remember how to feel. Now he has Abram for that. This mixture of the two is too much feeling at once. </p><p>“I understand the broken leg better now," he calls out when he's finally able to talk again.</p><p>“Hahaha. You're so unbearably funny, I might die from it. It'd be a shame that <em> that </em>'s what kills me in the end.” Abram's reply is cold and devoid of amusement.</p><p><em> Oh</em>, Andrew thinks, <em> someone's in a dark mood tonight</em>. That explains the balancing precariously above a five-story fall thing. </p><p>He approaches Abram cautiously until he's close enough to circle his fingers around Abram's slender wrist in a gentle grip.</p><p>“You did not survive this long to die of your own stupidity.”</p><p>Abram turns toward him and climbs down from the edge of the building, all without dislodging Andrew's fingers from their hold around his arm. There are specks of blood splattered on the front of his shirt and a storm in his eyes, but Andrew breathes easier now that Abram is no longer on the verge of overbalancing into the void.</p><p>"It wouldn't be the first time my stupidity almost killed me," he says with a smile too feral to be depreciating, a remnant from whatever happened to alter Abram's mood.</p><p>Andrew just meets his gaze head-on and waits for the storm to pass. Eventually, Abram let out a long breath and let himself be coaxed back inside.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's complete for now, but I might add more if the fancy (and inspiration) strike me.<br/>Thank you for reading!</p>
<p>Title from <i>Someday</i> by The Strokes.<br/>The poem Andrew quotes in chap. 2 is <i>Night I: On Life, Death, and Immortality</i> by Edward Young.<br/>I'm on <a href="https://matter-of-semantics.tumblr.com/"> Tumblr</a> if you want to say hi :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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